


Bury My Old Soul (And Dance On Its Grave)

by theladyscribe



Series: Greek Verse [5]
Category: Greek and Roman Mythology, Supernatural
Genre: Character Death, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-02
Updated: 2013-09-02
Packaged: 2017-12-25 09:06:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/951254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theladyscribe/pseuds/theladyscribe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s not the sultry black-haired woman he was half-expecting (surely there are more than one crossroads demon), nor the red-eyed hell-hounds he’d heard of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bury My Old Soul (And Dance On Its Grave)

He’s been hearing the hounds for days now, heard them baying like dogs chasing down an animal. He hasn’t told Sam. Sam doesn’t really need to know.

He walks to the crossroads and stands waiting, listening for the telltale sound of the hounds.

And then he hears it, the high keening howl of wolves coming for their prey. He tries not to let it affect him, but he can’t stop the way his hands shake. Still, he turns toward the sound, defiant to the last.

He frowns in confusion when he sees what is coming for him. It’s not the sultry black-haired woman he was half-expecting (surely there are more than one crossroads demon), nor the red-eyed hell-hounds he’d been warned of. Instead, a stag is running toward him at full speed, moonlight glinting off its glistening pelt. Behind it are wolf-hounds, howling their delight. And behind the hounds runs the most beautiful woman Dean has ever seen, her porcelain skin all but glowing in the light of the full moon. Her eyes aren’t red like he was expecting; instead, they’re bright like liquid silver. She smiles at him and draws her silver bow, aiming for the stag’s heart.

The arrow is straight and true, and it pierces the stag through the heart with a blinding flash of light. He stumbles to the ground, white-hot pain lancing through him as he falls. The woman and the hounds come to a stop above him, and with quickly fading eyes, he looks at her again, more carefully this time, and understands.

Standing before him is the woman who’s been plaguing his dreams for over a year now, always only half-remembered, like a phantom flickering just out of sight. She’s a goddess, of course, and it all makes a lot more sense when that piece of the puzzle slides into place. It should surprise him more than it does, but bizarre shit tends to follow him around and being shot with an arrow by an ancient goddess isn’t very high on the Winchester scale of weird. It _does_ surprise him that he didn’t piece it together before; after all, he’s fairly certain she’s most of the reason he lived this long.

But then again, “You killed me,” he chokes out, coughing up blood.

She smiles down at him. “You know I had to do it.” She’s right, of course; only two ways out of this deal and in both of them, somebody had to die. Better him than his brother.

“Tell – tell Sam,” he struggles to say around the blood in his mouth.

“Sam will know.” She reaches down and takes his hand. “Come along, Dean. We have a place for you.” With a surprising amount of strength, she pulls him to his feet. Well, sort of. He looks down at his own lifeless body, a strange sort of déjà vu hitting him at the sight. He shakes his head and looks back at the goddess.

“A place for me, huh? You know, I always wanted to be a star,” he jokes, and she rolls her eyes at him.

“That is very well and all, but you are _not_ going to be a star, Dean. You missed that opportunity by several thousand years.”

“Oh. Damn.” He laughs at himself, and the sound echoes all around them. “Where _are_ we going, then? Greece? I always wanted to go to Greece, but airplanes were never really an option.”

“ _We_ are not going anywhere,” she says. “You have to stay here. This is where you are supposed to be.”

“I—what?”

“We will not see each other again after tonight, Dean. This is your land, not mine. It is your responsibility to guide and to guard it.” She looks at him intently. “Do you understand?”

He looks around, taking in the already-lightening sky, and then blinks and says, “Yes. Of course. This is where I’m supposed to be.”

And of course it is. He knows this land like the back of his hand, has touched nearly every part of it at some point in his short life. There’s nowhere else he’d rather be than on these roads. Nothing else to do but find adventure and hunts and…

“What about Sam?”

“You can still protect him,” she assures him.

“Good.” He grins and the air around him crackles with energy, takes a breath and the rumble of an engine fills the sky. And then his grin falters and the spark of a guitar lick that was bubbling to the surface fails. “But what if people don’t believe?” he asks, looking into the distance, seeing well beyond their immediate horizon to where the sun is just starting to rise and the rest of the world with it.

“You do not need to worry. You will be remembered,” she whispers. “And that is more important than belief.”


End file.
